


Chofesh, Cherut, Racachim

by thatiranianphantom (FrraFee)



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrraFee/pseuds/thatiranianphantom
Summary: He didn't really forget any of the times she belittled, insulted, or emasculated him. But it wouldn't really make a difference now, and it certainly wouldn't change how it ended.





	1. hatchala (the beginning)

_It didn't start out this way. And it wasn't supposed to end this way. Looking back, Tony couldn't positively identify when it began, but it was sure turning out to be a spectacular finale._

_She was not the type of woman to go down quietly or without a fight._

**_July_ **

Shayla Jordan was the perfect woman for Tony DiNozzo. She was smart, beautiful, and she picked up obscure movie references. She didn't give him crap about the hours he had to work, or the dates he had to postpone, and didn't get either grossed out or overly excited about his work.

It wasn't long before most of their free time was spent with one another, to the point that they did their grocery shopping and laundry together.

She didn't make any demands – which was good. He was still Tony DiNozzo. But when he was away from her, he had the unfamiliar sense of being alone, which didn't used to suck.

**_September_ **

She moved in.

**_December_ **

It was a water leak in her apartment. Tony hadn't meant to move quite that fast (no lobotomy), but when a woman in distress asked him for help, well…Let it never be said that Tony did not help a damsel in distress. Especially one that looked that good in a nurse's outfit.

It seemed to work perfectly at first. The only thing that really changed was the convenience factor – no more commute to sex.

**_January_ **

Tony always put off introducing a new woman to his team. The _best_ she could hope for was that a case would call them away mid-interrogation. The fact that she survived a full two hours with them, including a detailed description of what Abby was capable of (which still made Tony flinch), was a testament to how right this woman was for him.

She wasn't even intimidated by the silent ex-Mossad agent glaring at her from across the table. She seemed to have no problem with the women Tony worked so closely with every day, despite the fact that Abby jumped him when he walked through the door. Instead, she greeted Abby warmly, and asked her where she got her boots.

The only problem that night was Tony was worried Ducky was going to try to steal his woman. Tony was good, but he didn't know how to compete with the Duck-man.

**_February_ **

He's not sure exactly when it started.

**_June_ **

He couldn't fault her logic. He did have a physically demanding job, and he wasn't in the best physical shape anymore. He'd always attributed that to the plague, but she was right. Too many pizzas and his love affair with carbs were wreaking havoc on his metabolism. Hell, even Probie was slim-Tim now.

He could work out a little more, and eat a little healthier.

McGee made a comment about it, the next time the team (minus Gibbs, of course) went out, but the conversation quickly turned to Ziva and her father – he was apparently regretting his decision to let his best asset go. He was trying to talk Director Vance into letting the operative he trained work for Mossad again.

It wasn't anything Tony was really worried about – she was a US citizen, and Gibbs wouldn't let anything happen to her again.

**_August_ **

Gibbs did have to save his ass more than once. Shayla was right to…suggest he work a little harder. He just wished she hadn't been such a bitch about it.

**_September_ **

He didn't want to lose her. She was right – she had stuck with him for more than a year now, and she deserved a little give on his part. It couldn't hurt to forgo his trip with the boys to spend time with her.

And he did spend every day with his team, so a few cancellations for after-work drinks weren't a big sacrifice. She was right about that too.

Besides – Ziva's problems with her father were taking up more time. There weren't as many invitations as there used to be.

**_October_ **

It kind of hurt to realize that he had _always_ been the one to initiate team get-togethers. No one seemed to want to hang out with him unless _he_ suggested it. Maybe it was best to stay home with Shayla.

**_November_ **

The names hurt. He didn't like it shoved in his face exactly how much of a screw-up he was. Gibbs and his father took care of that just fine.

But hell. Didn't he call people names now and then?

He still called Probie…Probie. And McGoo. And McGoogle. And McTattle.

It just wasn't the same as shithead, useless prick, and fuck-up.

**_December_ **

It wasn't really necessary to take the mail key away. It was only the one time he forgot to tell her about that bill, and he paid the fine.

But it was her home too, she'd lived here for more than a year, and if she wanted to take that responsibility off his back, fine.

**_January_ **

He didn't really want a joint account. After watching his father milk one woman after another out of their hard earned money, he knew it was a bad idea. But it wasn't worth the fight.

_He could go in to more detail, of course. He didn't really forget any of the times she belittled, insulted, or emasculated him. But it wouldn't really make a difference now, and it certainly wouldn't change how it ended._


	2. shinuy

Nobody noticed at first, because really, what was there to notice?

Murder, death, banter, drinks with friends, Gibbs-slaps, and the ever-present McNames were there just as they had always been, just as they always would be, and nothing and everything was different.

Sometimes, Tony couldn't believe he had been with the same woman for over a year. You see, if you ask Tony, he'll never admit it, but Tony The Italian Gigolo (that particularly loving nickname still reared its ugly head on occasion) didn't quite think of himself as Don Juan. There had to be a reason for the revolving door of women in his life, right? And the chances that there was something wrong with every single one of them were, admittedly, slim, so it only stood to reason that Tony was the problem. Don't use the term "low self esteem", remember, that crap sounds like a freaking therapy session.

And Shayla was, by all accounts, perfect. Never in his life did Tony have such a steady stream of prepared dinners whenever he got home, never had there been such a short commute to sex (never lose sight of what was important), and in a completely girly way, it was nice to have a warm body curled in his arms after a hard day, not pressing for the gory details.

Yes, life was good. And Tony certainly didn't expect Shayla to play the part of the 50's housewife, all frilly aprons and "yes dears", so the fact that she would interject her opinion was something Tony was sure he would come to appreciate.

Which is why he found himself skimping on portions of the food he used to love. And hitting the gym slightly more than he was accustomed to. And maybe going for a few less drinks with the team, because apparently, too much alcohol could actually be bad for you (he hadn't known Shayla to be so sarcastic previously, but as always, she was right).

Now, looking back, if you asked Tony, he would never say it was easy. He was hungry all the time, which didn't really make for good workouts ( _"being too much of a weakling to lift those means you have to go more." Jokingly, of course_ ), and his friends did start to look hurt when he started turning them down again and again. Even Ziva. Especially Ziva. Her face was stony silent, but Tony could see the hurt flashing across her eyes, and his conscience warred with itself

_She finally feels wanted. Why are you trying to take that from her?_

_Oh, so now I'm responsible for making sure she feels all warm and fuzzy?_

_She's your partner._

_Yeah, she's really been doling out the social interaction recently._

* * *

 

Tony didn't check himself out in the mirror much. Less so recently. But on the odd occasion that he did, he definitely had lost weight. Well, Shayla could count that a victory, right?

Problem is, Tony had been getting more forgetful as the weight dropped. He had lost a phone bill. Just one, but you never know what one might mean. So Shayla had taken his mailbox key. Saving him from himself really. He was lucky he had her to do that, wasn't he?

And not just that, he'd been finding it harder to keep up with Ziva's brisk pace as she moved deftly about the crime scene. By the time they even got to the top of a particularly large hill (psycho couldn't have killed the Petty Officer a little closer to the earth's surface? Seriously, he could touch Mars from the top of that hill). Some little voice that Tony worked to squash told him that he should be getting stronger, not weaker, but it wasn't just Tony who wanted this. It was important to Shayla too.

Which is why, when Tony strode into Ducky's lab, it didn't particularly make any sense to him when the older man looked at him with the oddest look.

"My dear boy, whatever have you been doing?"

_Remember that Tony doesn't know when it started. Ducky was simply the first one he could recall noticing. Not something he likes to think about._

"What do you mean, Ducky? Just been dropping a few extra pounds. Just because this guy's settled a bit doesn't mean this body's gotta go by the wayside."

Ducky clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Well, I certainly concur on the fact that you have lost weight. It's noticeable."

As the older man went into the details of the final moments of Petty Officer Sculder (no, Tony did not rise above the obvious X-Files joke. There are certain things that never disappear from a person's character), Tony reviewed his current situation in his head. Maybe a few drinks with the team now and then wouldn't hurt. This was the best job he'd ever had, and really, the team's camaraderie was an important part of that.

Shayla, however, had different insights on that. "Really, Tony? The twelve-hour days you spend with your team aren't enough for you or them?"

Point, he had to concede. Besides, after that, Shayla had shimmied ever closer to him – wearing the apron he had picked out – and things get a little fuzzy in Tony's memory on that particular day.

The next day, however, it does occur to him that Ducky may have mentioned something to Gibbs, because he feels his boss' serious blue eyes on him even more than normal, and it may be just his imagination, but the slaps come a little less often.

And Tony, being Tony is instantly on his guard, but then he realizes, Ducky couldn't have told Gibbs anything significant, because there is nothing significant is going on. Much ado about nothing (Richard Briers, Kate Beckinsale, great flick, if a bit outdated).

* * *

 

It's important to remember, as I'm sure you've noticed, that Tony did not see this coming. If he had, he would have handled things differently, that's for sure. Enough shit went down to make him seriously skittish of – well, you know what of. And sure, in true Anthony DiNozzo fashion, he blames himself, although he has been told over and over this is not his fault. But she went down, and he was hurt. Not Tony, of course. That'd be too simple. Loyalty really sucked sometimes, and while it'd be simple to think it was just him and Shayla at the beginning and that's how it'd be at the end, things rarely work out that way.

They did end with a bang, however. Big fucking curtain call.


	3. hadma'ot

_Now that we're getting into this, you know what Tony was thinking. Freaking story has a beginning, middle and end. And it's not like one of those cliché chick flicks, so don't expect Tony to wax poetic. Nope, the DiNozzo man tells it like it is._

_Stop searching for the little clues, because they aren't so much little as they are neon, glaring signs. Big freaking neon signs that Tony didn't see._

_And don't expect Tony to tell you this story of beginning, middle and end wrapped up in a neat little bow and allowed Tony to file it away in his memories. It'd be nice to think that it could work that way, but really, everyone has those memories from long ago that assault them randomly._

_Everyone feels that stab of shame, guilt, whatever the hell it is from time to time._

_Judgment being what it is, there's enough blame to go around. But don't place it on the most obvious source, that's a sissy move. Remember, those who enable are as bad as those who commit. Yeah. Chew on that._

* * *

__

He wasn't completely oblivious. He knew Ziva was getting into it with her dad, that shining example to which all fathers aspire to, again. He hadn't missed the long, drawn out conversations in Hebrew (no, he didn't speak it, but Ziva's tone left little to the imagination). He saw the dark circles under her eyes, and he noted how McGeek had been slipping down to Abby's lab much more frequently than normal.

With that said, old Tony would have at least had the courtesy to mock Ziva for her appearance, and come up with a few cursory McNames.

And that bothered him more than a little. Sure, they'd caught a few guys, dirtbags were safely in jail.

But Tony couldn't entirely chalk it up to paranoia anymore when Gibbs' sharp blue eyes were carefully scrutinizing him as he panted and puffed his way up another hill. The "go home, DiNozzo"'s had also gotten more frequent. Ducky again. Tony had already established that this was nothing to write home about, so why was everyone still on his case?

* * *

"Why don't you invite some of your friends for dinner?" Shayla suggested one night.

Tony's head snapped up from the paper he was pretending to read. "Huh?"

"You've been complaining about how you never see your friends anymore…why don't you have them over?"

And Tony's not really sure what to say, because while Shayla did fantastically well when he brought her to the bullpen all those months ago, he's not really sure about bringing them onto a decidedly less neutral ground.

And yet…

"Sure," he hears himself say, and then it's too late to back out.

Later that night, post-dinner, post-cleanup, post-sex, post-bed, during what by all accounts should be post-awake, Tony lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, hoping that the calm breathing of the beautiful woman next to him would lull him into sleep. No such avail (don't give him that look, Tony is not that much of a girl. Really).

He did discover, however, why people hate to lie awake at night. His thoughts ran through his head at an uncontrollable pace, flashing before his eyes like an 80's flick, and Tony was powerless to stop them.

All at once, however, the images shifted. Gone were the images of the crime scenes, of severed fingers and gutted women, of bosses drowning in cars and of partners being tortured in dusty African nowheres.

No, these were somehow, for some reason that he could not even begin to comprehend, worse. Yelling. Screaming. Taunts. Torture.

_Be a man, DiNozzo_

_My god, why didn't your father just slap you?_

_What the hell is wrong with you that you can't keep track of one fucking phone bill?_

_Useless…sure don't appreciate me enough_

_I have to do everything, no wonder you were alone._

_Lucky I'm here._

_Goddamn coward…if you really loved me you would grow the hell up…_

Oh, they could have been random. Said a thousand times, to a thousand different people. Yet it was him.

And suddenly Tony couldn't breathe. His chest constricted painfully, his breath came in short gasps. He clutched at his throat, so tightly his nails drew blood.

Have to get out, his mind shouted frantically, and then he was running on tiptoes for the living room. He flopped down in the seat, stuffing his fist in his mouth to muffle the sobs.

And that voice, that goddamn voice in his head, the voice that he knew but maybe he wasn't ready to face it just yet, that voice taunted him still.

_Still a man DiNozzo? Stop being a fucking girl._

The sobs wouldn't stop, and Tony's body heaved frantically. He pressed his lips together tightly and wrapping his arms tightly around himself.

_Oh, god. Oh, god. No. No. Nonononononoo…_

You can all guess how that ended. Embarassing enough as it is, and that night kind of spun off itself. Long story short, it ended with Tony finally calming down enough to slip back into bed, relief that he had not woke Shayla palpable. Interpret from that what you will.

* * *

"Quite a wonderful salad, my dear," Ducky commented. "Do you cook often, because you may be quite an asset in my lab."

Shayla laughed. "I only pull out all the stops for the people I really like, Ducky."

"Well then, I do consider myself fortunate," the older man smiled.

Tony turned to Ziva, who sat silently at the end of the table, her face unreadable. She and Ducky were the only ones who could make this dinner, although Abby had planned on it before the nuns had switched their bowling date ( _they_ _need_ _me, Tony. I'm the only one who can bowl 10 pin without bumpers, and Sister Rosita's arthritis has been acting up_ ).

Tony was surprised that Ziva had shown up, and while she was perfectly polite to Shayla, her shoulders had remained tense the entire dinner.

"Something going on, Ziva?"

Her head snapped toward him, face smoothing into a smile. "Of course not, Tony."

He snorted. "Face of doom doesn't lie, Ziva. I know when something's going on with you."

A shadow fell across his partner's face as she closed herself off completely to him. "How?" she bit out.

* * *

__

_Yes, he hadn't been paying attention. At all, really. And God knows Ziva had been brushed off enough in her life._

_Looking back on that, Tony can only ever see it as one more way he screwed up, not that there aren't enough of those._

_In the end, though, it didn't matter. Slow road there, and no road back._


	4. naga'

_We're getting there. Getting closer to you-know-what._

_Sometimes, Tony likes to pretend this is a movie, and everything ends up with all of that shiny-happy, everyone walking away into the sunset, amicacable parting shit._

_Would've been nice._

_Tony feels cheated a lot of the time. He was the one hurt, yet he wasn't. The other one who got hurt, his injuries get a whole lot worse in Tony's nightmares, and he certainly doesn't feel deserving of the soothing hands that wake him up._

_Who he expected to be there, isn't. And who he didn't expect to, is._

_Final hour. Countdown begins now._

* * *

"Aba!"

Damn, Ziva's voice could cut through anything. Tony winced. Third converation this week.

Although for the life of him, he couldn't quite remember what they were discussing.

Nor, apparently, did it occur to Tony to ask. (He said he wasn't proud of it).

Things would have been easy to blame on Shayla. His schedule at the gym was strictly regimented. His diet was carefully controlled by his loving girlfriend. And his sex schedule was right on track. Life should have been great.

Only it wasn't.

Only recently, the overwhelming sense of helplessness that used to grip Tony only occasionally, now gripped him at any given moment.

The whole team (minus Ziva, but she had always had a weird problem with the women he dated) loved Shayla, welcoming her into their pseudo-family with open arms. Ducky had invited Shayla over for dinner at his house, and she had obliged last week. Gibbs had blessed her with one of his half-smiles. McSmitten had given her one of his sappy puppy looks and followed her around on every visit. Shayla took a genuine interest in all of them, calling out to all of them on every visit, and had even attempted to make peace with Ziva, before Tony briefed her on how futile it was.

Damn, could she be more perfect?

It was a Sunday night, and Tony was cleaning the apartment in preparation for Shayla's return from her mother's tomorrow night.

Not useless at cleaning, not that he took that little comment to heart.

To say he was surprised at the knock on the door would be an understatement. (He certainly won`t tell you how his stomach sank a little at the thought that it could be Shayla, not that it even made sense to him. She was too good to him.)

Not as surprised though, as he was to find one Ziva David, The Princess Bride and Thai food in hand, and a nervous smile on her face.

For long moments, he just stared, until she finally offered:

"You have long said that it is unusual of me to have not seen this. Not to "girl-flicky", I hope?"

Warmth spread through his chest, and a small smile broke out over his face.

"It's chick-flick, Zee-vah, and it is weird on so many levels. Get in here."

And the smile on her face was well worth the cursory check of the halls he did after he left.

* * *

Things were better than Tony could believe the next day. He dared to hope that a movie night was all it would take to repair he and Ziva's strained relationship (yeah, famous last words, Tony knows).

Still, for one glorious day, Shayla was not on him about his diet or the gym, he flirted playfully with his partner, and they even caught a particularly notorious criminal with a pechant for killing navy officers.

Yep, all in all, the DiNozzo man had a pretty good day.

Well, unless you count the tremors.

And the lightheadedness, but that was just because of the diet.

But really, who counted that? For now, life was good. And Anthony DiNozzo had the women in his life to thank for it.

"Hear you and Ziva had fun last night," McProbie's voice broke through Tony's trance. His head snapped up.

"What was that, Probie?"

McGee shrugged. "Ziva told me you guys had one of your movie nights again last night. First time in awhile."

A small smile broke out on Tony's face. "Yep. One night with Ziva, the next with my woman."

"Well, I just hope Shayla doesn't mind leftover Thai for dinner tonight. Hope Ziva left her a note or something."

Tony jumped over to McGee. "What are you talking about, McCrazy? I'm not telling her Ziva was over."

The junior agent's brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"Well, because...because...she wouldn't like that."

"Why? Why would she care, nothing's going on between you and Ziva."

"No, but..." A memory came to Tony's mind, unbidden. That had been a particularly bad night. Shayla had heard that Tony had gone to dinner with Ziva, and upon hearing this, had promptly locked him out of the house. Tony had spent the night in his car, throroughly confused and more than a little pissed. By the time she opened the door the next morning, ready to give her what-for, she had laid into him with a speech of was he really suprised that she had a problem with his attractive partner showing up late at night and spending the night on the couch with him?

It made sense, he had to admit. But then she had raised her hand quickly to his face, and Tony had flinched away despite himself. Instead of the look of horror he would have expected to see on her face, she actually looked satisfied, stroking his cheek.

"My Tony," she had sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

So no, he was not going to tell Shayla that his partner had come over, particularly not that she had come over late at night when she was away.

But what did that say about his relationship?

* * *

That thought weighed on Tony more than he cared to admit, so when he saw Ziva striding into work, looking better than usual in her bright blue coat (she had an arsenal of coats, each of which looked better on her than the next. What? He wasn't blind), the hurt look on her face when he didn't even say hello made his stomach drop.

* * *

Another day, another loud Hebrew conversation. Tony had successfully lied to Shayla about the excess Thai food (you were the one that said I couldn't cook to save my life), and all was good.

Except Ziva was still giving her version of the hurt-puppy looks across the room, and they still made Tony's stomach clench.

She values her relationship with you more than many others, Anthony, Ducky's voice said in his head. And you are taking that one stable relationship away from her. You are doing nothing for her.

Nothing for her? Tony repeated to himself. That wasn't right. She deserved something from him, at least.

And with that in mind, he strode up to her desk, where she was - he guessed the polite term would be reasoning - with her father, and grabbed the phone from her.

"Eli? Tony DiNozzo here. Just going to break this down for you: your daughter hates you. I know that may shock you but sending her on a suicide mission to the middle of nowhere doesn't exactly show how much you care. Now leave her the hell alone, or there won't be enough bodyguards in the world to protect you from who I send. Lose this number or lose your life. Caio."

With a flourish, he hung the phone up.

Well, in hindsight, it had seemed like a good idea.

Only the look on Ziva's face spelled his imminent death, and once again, Anthony DiNozzo could not win with the world.


	5. nahum

_**Tick, tick, tick.** _

_**Don't worry, Tony hears it.** _

_**Perhaps you would like to take a turn smacking him on the head? He and Gibbs can't do all the work themselves and it wouldn't be like he didn't deserve it.** _

_**We're getting to a turning point here. Remember all that shit about forks in the road earlier? One could metaphorically say that here was where he saw the sign.** _

Ziva pushed open the doors to the gym angrily; half-hoping she'd break something when they slammed shut again.

No such luck.

She spotted Tony in the back corner, lifting weights. Again. It seemed to be where he spent most of his time, if he wasn't with _her_.

Ziva didn't storm. It was unwise to obviously display too much emotion, so she strode forward, keeping a close eye on her target.

He was struggling. With no spotter. With what was obviously _way_ too much weight for him to handle.

She frowned at the display, but dismissed it as Tony's own stupidity, and continued towards him.

He sat up in time to see her approach, and wipe the exhaustion off his face.

"Who do you think you are?" She demanded, as soon as she was within earshot. "Barging in on other people's business, when you haven't paid any attention to me or anyone else on the team for months. So caught up in your grand new love, as though you've completely forgotten what happened the last time."

"And I'd bother to make some elaborate death threat, but it seems there is no need. You seem determined to finish the job for me. What kind of an idiot lifts that much weight when there is no one else even close enough to hear him scream? Are you insane?"

"Are you finished, Agent David?" Tony asked, his voice full of mock-sweetness. _Yep. This_ would _be his day._

"No! I'm not! How dare you speak to the head of Mossad like that! I may not like the man, but his position deserves a certain amount of respect!"

"Wait," Tony interrupted. "Are you made because I didn't defend you sooner, or because I defended you at all? I'm a little confused. I think you're losing the point of your rant. Did you want time to rehearse how you were gonna bitch me out?"

It threw her off, just as Tony hoped it would. Her face dropped for a second, and that, as far as he was concerned, was one second closer to getting her to go.

Not like he wanted people to see him like this. Michael Cera didn't just magically transform into Cary Grant (comparing modern and 50's actors? Wow, he was really off his game).

"Both!" Ziva yelled, frustrated, and Tony's head snapped back to the conver – well, the lecture he was currently the brunt of. "You should have known something was wrong. You've stuck your ear into my business…"

"Nose."

"Nose into my business since day one, and now, when I needed you, you were nowhere to be found."

"The last time you _needed_ me, you ran off to Israel, and got yourself taken as a prisoner of war."

She wanted to take this down into the gutter, he could work with that.

Anger was exhausting, but definitely easier.

"Do not bring that up now!"

"But Jeanne was fair game?" Tony came back instantly. He was still seated on the weight bench, not standing, as he normally would have.

Ziva noted idly that he must have overexerted himself. Not surprising, the idiot.

"And where do you get off talking to my Father like that?"

"Well, I was waiting for you to do it, but you seem to have left your spine somewhere. Do you want me to help you look for it?" Tony spat, deciding it was necessary, if a bit unwise, to take on the trained killer.

"Are you calling me weak?"

Tony rolled his eyes, frustrated.

"Ziva, the man is your kryptonite."

"My crypta-what?"

"Your…weakness. He's your weakness. I was just trying to take care of it for you. That's what you wanted, isn't it? Well now it's done."

With that, he got up and left, hoping futily that she'd leave it at that and not interpret it as him walking away from the conversation.

Nope.

Tony had made it as far as the changing room, the weight of the day crashing down on him, just ready to change and go home.

 _Now this is where Tony gets really stupid, because how could he just_ let _her see like that? Although in retrospect, that was pretty much the catalyst for the rest of this shit._

Ziva stormed (this time really stormed) into the changing room after him, looking perfectly ready to strangle him with his own workout towel.

And stopped cold.

He'd taken off his shirt as he walked ( _he_ knows _. Stupid)_ , and she could now see how thin he'd gotten. It wasn't just due to the additional workouts – he looked nearly emaciated.

Kos och'tok.

Tony jumped when he saw her approach, having not seen her coming but she ignored the reaction. Should have known that if she had no qualms about sneaking all ninja-like into the men's room, men's locker room would have been a no brainer.

No wonder he'd been shaking on that last set, he could practically hear her thinking – he didn't look like he could support his own body weight any more.

Ziva approached him with a caution entirely unlike her, lifting a hand to Tony's rail-thin shoulders.

"What happened?" she asked in a hollow voice. Whatever it was, this was bad.

"What do you mean?" he asked, tugging his shirt back on quickly. _Way to save your dignity, my man, Chandler Bing's voice rings in his head._

"Tony, you look worse than I did after three months in Somalia. What happened?"

"I've just been trying to lose some weight," he said, but Ziva's "spidey senses" noticed something very wrong. His tone…it was weak. He sounded about ready to collapse.

This was very bad.

"Did _she_ do this to you?" she asked, murder in her voice.

Tony almost cracked a smile at the return of his protective partner. Felt nice for someone else to adopt the murder-voice for once. Still, defences being what they are, they don't just fall at the drop of a hat, like in countless movies Tony had seen. Not to mention, the DiNozzo man still had his pride. Barely, but still.

"Do what?" Tony demanded. "Nothing's wrong, I've just lost a little weight."

"Tony, there are corpses on Ducky's slab that look better than you. After autopsy. You can't think this is an improvement. Did Shayla make you do this?"

"Is it wrong for a wife to encourage her husband to work out?"

"You're married?" She demanded, grabbing Tony's arm and spinning him to face her way too easily. The bitch was dead. She just didn't know it yet.

"We will be. She loves me. And where am I gonna get anyone better?"

_Yeah. That was a bad idea._

"The street corner? The bum that pisses on my building? McGee's dog?"

"Don't talk about her that way!" _Finally grew a spine,_ that horrible voice in his head spat.

"Tony, she starved you half to death!"

"She did not! She never made me do anything! She just wanted me to be stronger, healthier." _Believe me, Tony believed it. He's not an idiot. At least, not too much at this particular juncture._

Ziva pushed him lightly on the chest. It wouldn't have been enough to make Abby flinch, but Tony stumbled and grabbed on to the bench behind him. She raised an eyebrow critically.

"Stronger?"

Tony sighed, sitting heavily and breathing shallowly. _Fuck._

"I didn't see that coming…" he stuttered. "I would have blocked that, but…"

"But you didn't know I was going to hit you. If a suspect does that, you're dead."

"I…"

"And whoever is with you is vulnerable. They'll be expecting you to be able to cover them, but you won't be able to stand."

 _They say there are several crystal-clear moments in a man's life. Oh don't look at him like that, this wasn't one of them. It was murky at best, but slightly clearer than two minutes ago. A memory forced its way to the front of his memory, one involving a tiny box, some fake money, and Ziva on top of him. Try as he might, when he was with Shayla, that feeling of...partnership, he guessed, just never came that easily. Maybe this was why. Otherwise, why would he be on the ground from a nudge, on the advice of his_ loving girlfriend _?_

"Ziva, I wouldn't…"

"I know you wouldn't endanger us, Tony," she said, sitting beside him so she wasn't towering over him and lecturing. "I've worked with you for more than five years, and you have never once failed to have my back. Even when you're obviously…" She stuttered, trying to find the right words to use. "In need of help, you're still there for me. But now, you have to let me have your back."

Warmth spread through Tony, a feeling missing for the last few months. He guesses that's why he allowed himself to be led to Ziva's car and force fed (some of which he threw up later, but she was right there then too).

Ziva waited till she had him safely tucked into her bed before she called Gibbs.

_**Screams. That's all hears, and all he sees is the flash of ambulance lights and the horrific smell of hospitals.** _

_**Don't worry. We're getting there.** _


	6. kri'at krav

**It's important to remember that much as it may seem like he is not, Tony is trying to save face here. The DiNozzo man managed to become what he can now only see as a shell of himself, but he hates you looking at him like that. He's still Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. The man who ran to Somalia to avenge his partner's (alleged) death. That is pretty damn badass, wasn't it?**

With that in mind, he won't tell you about the nightmares, while curled up in Ziva's surprisingly girly bed, clutching the blankets and whimpering. Or how he felt Ziva's hands on his face, whispering softly.

And _definitely_ not how he threw himself like a three-year-old into her embrace.

"Shhh, yakir. Shh…."

After what was _certainly_ a very short and manly number of minutes later, Ziva guided him away from her, and held his face in her hands.

"Tony," she whispered. "Gibbs is coming. We are taking you to the emergency room."

Well, _that_ brought him back. Tony's fairly certain that he simply babbled several hundred permutations of "no" for several minutes, but it had no effect on Ziva.

"Yes, Tony, yes. This is _not_ normal. Now, I don't know what she did to you, but the Anthony DiNozzo I know can at least hold himself up while climbing a hill. We…we all love you, and this is why we are doing this for you."

"Ducky.."

"No. You are going to the emergency room. You are not going to Ducky as you are not a corpse, at least not yet, and I intend on keeping you that way. But Tony," Ziva ducked her head and looked right into his eyes, and damn it if it wasn't like staring into the eyes of St. Peter, but he digresses.

" _What_ did Shayla do to you?"

( _By this point the spell had pretty much broken. What before had been pretty murky waters regarding their relationship had cleared somewhat, so maybe in that moment, Tony saw Shayla as a little less than perfect)_

"She….she wanted me to be more in shape, eat better. I swear, I swear to God, Ziva, that was all it was at first. Then…I lost a bill…she took the mail key…called me stupid, "why do I stay with you, asshole?"…I'm so stupid, Ziva, I…she said…she said I didn't deserve her."

The look on his partner's face _defined_ murderous, but her hand, which was moving slowly up and down his arm, didn't stop.

Tony still takes this as a good sign.

* * *

Three hours and one very humiliating car ride later, Tony is seated on a hard bed in the ER, unbearably tense for unknown reasons as the doctor strides into his cubicle.

Ziva is seated on an uncomfortable-looking chair a safe distance away, while Gibbs hovered, silent as usual by the door.

The doctor has on his face what must be a comforting smile for some, but Tony's not fooled. _Still a Very Special Agent…._

"Mr. DiNozzo," he begins. "I've got some good news, and unfortunately, some bad news as well. Good news is you're going to be just fine."

"And the bad news?" _Might as well get right to the point. Beating around the bush is how he got into this mess…_

The doctor bites his lip, as if considering how to deliver this particular news. "We got your blood work back. There were…higher levels of a particular chemical then we'd usually see. You appear to have mercury poisoning, Mr. DiNozzo."

_Well, you'd expect at this point for everything to fall into place. You'd also be wrong, but then again, so was Tony._

Ziva shot up off her chair, stopped only by Gibbs' hand on her arm.

"Could this be accidental?" His boss asks in his usual soft tone.

The doctor shook his head. "Levels indicate a very high level over a long period of time."

He turns to Tony. "Mercury poisoning weakens all systems in the body. Its symptoms include weight loss, fuzziness in the mind, loss of control, memory loss, mood swings, emotional disturbance – any of this sounding familiar?"

And Tony can only nod, yet he does not see red. His mind is, for once, blissfully blank.

He doesn't think, can't think, and is oddly filled with the warmest sensation he has experienced for a long time.

( _He doesn't realize till later it was Gibbs' hand on his shoulder. Boss had always been good at silently being there.)_

"How could someone have done this?" Ziva breathes.

Another shake of the head. "Mercury is odourless and tasteless. Most likely it was put in his food." _It's not what she meant, but she takes it in anyway._

The rest of the visit is another series of blurs, mostly involving his taciturn boss (who looked plenty angry himself) calming down the now-raging former assassin, the doctor's mouth moving as words with no real meaning came out, and Tony trying desperately to make sense of everything.

_You know what he was thinking. Tony doesn't need to tell you._

* * *

Eventually, it was decided that for now, Tony would stay with Ziva (though the Boss' eyes fairly screamed _rule 12)_.

Unfortunately, that meant that they still had to go back to Tony – Shayla's place and get his things. Not something he was particularly looking forward to, especially in light of the revelation that, oh yeah, she had been trying to kill him.

Still, of all people to take with him, a trained assassin who happened to be severely pissed off at the person in question wasn`t the worst choice.

_Didn't stop him from shaking like a goddamn leaf as they approached what used to be Tony`s home, though_

"Ziva! I didn't know we were expecting company! " Shayla cried as she flew to the door, only to meet a stone-faced Ziva.

"Get out," his partner hissed.

Shayla's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry? "

"Get out, or I will drop you out on your head."

Now Shayla's face formed into an expression Tony was all-too familiar with: anger. She stepped toward Ziva and grasped her arm lightly.

"Look, Ziva, this is my house. You can't"… was about as far as she got before she found herself halfway across the room with a flick of the other woman's hand.

Shayla's face was a mask of ugliness and Tony wondered fleetingly what he had ever found so wonderful about it. Just another one of his stupidities to add to the list.

Right after the fact that Shayla flew towards Ziva yelling "bitch" and his partner barely blinked, but Tony flinched, he _flinched_ when the woman wasn't even coming for him.

Now, instead of her mildly dignified former position across the room, Shayla now found herself on the floor, face squished under a combat boot. Ziva leaned down and whispered in the other woman's face, and Tony could only think _damn, she_ ' _s amazing._

"Now, here's what you're going to do. You are going to leave here, returning only when Tony is long gone. You, who are so pathetic that you poisoned your boyfriend to get control of him, will never make an appearance in his life again, and we'll all be the better for it."

"And if I don't?" Brave to ask, Tony had to give Shayla that.

And rather stupid, because she had now found herself being dragged by her hair onto the wall.

"If you do, it may serve you well to remember that I am a trained Kidon operative, and I have killed for far, _far_ less then someone trying to hurt the people I care about."

 **And doesn** ' **t it sound fantastic? Especially when you consider that Shayla did leave and Tony did uneventfully go home with Ziva that night (** _ **ha)**_ **.**

 **Don** ' **t pretend you can** ' **t hear that clock counting down, though. It should be so easy.**


	7. laquach

**Oh yeah, is the shit going to hit the fan. Already smelling a little shitty, so best to just rip the veil off the monster completely, so to speak. Tony's not fooled, so don't think he is.**

It was a shame that Tony hadn't been there to see it when McGee got the call from Gibbs. It was said that his voice raised four octaves in a single word when he heard that Tony's apartment was a crime scene.

(In case you were wondering, Lucy from HR won the pool. Tony had been sure he'd top out at three, but dammit if he wasn't the little Probie that could.)

It started with the instruction to make Tony's apartment a crime scene.

That was the definitive, undisputed greatest octave raise in NCIS history. McGee would get more than one pat on the back, and have no idea what it was for.

"Is he all right? What happened? "McGee demanded, a little more abrupt than he usually was with Gibbs.

"Well, I don't know, Tim. It might be that someone tried to kill him. "

"Is he all right? " McGee demanded again.

"Aside from the mercury in his system, yeah, he's fine. He's with Ziva now, but we need to secure the crime scene. "

"Someone tried to kill him? Who?"

McGee sighed, starting to look around his desk. "Should I find that list of suspects? After the last time, Abby put a laminated copy in my desk."

McGee got the startling sensation that Gibbs was trying not to laugh.

"Not this time, Tim. Just the one he was living with."

And with that, Gibbs hung up.

* * *

After word had spread to the evidence lab, everyone in the building found a way to avoid going down there. Abby was heard yelling after Agent McGee as he left to secure the crime scene some very interesting (and highly illegal) suggestions about what to do it he ran into _her_. (A couple of the newer agents had not known that there were that many ways to kill a woman with a platform boot.)

Second hand knowledge was usually a poor form of information, but as an investigator, Tony has made an art out of knowing what happened based on eye-witness accounts.

Mrs. Grueber, from down the hall, swore that the young Agent Timmy looked very "vehklempt", and that Agent Gibbs had very blank and empty look on his face. He was never the most expressive, but that single raised eyebrow – for two consecutive hours – did serve to unnerve her. Tony took that to mean a complete mental breakdown on the part of his boss.

Photos and sketches were taken of all of his possessions. It might have been foolish to retain any pride at this point, but he could have done without Gibbs knowing he owned the Twilight Movies. His only true hope was that Gibbs didn't recognize it – and McGee didn't tell him.

Mr. Faulton, his landlord, was very put out that he'd been 'detained for questioning', until Tony reminded him how great it would go over at Poker on Sunday. All of a sudden, the man had been _this close_ to being arrested in association of the attempted murder of a federal agent. Either that, or he had practically solved the crime before the cops got there. It depended on who you asked.

Now Tony, or Very Special Agent DiNozzo, knows what you're thinking. He does this for a living, and knows you're wondering why Ziva would invite the Bitch From Hell, as Abby promptly named her, back to Tony's apartment any time she pleased. Well Tony was wondering the same thing. He wasn't exactly looking forward to a reunion.

But he knew (and you should have, shame on you), that he could trust his team. They may sometimes overlook the obvious, as evident by the fact that they're all in this mess. But once the mess has been exposed, they cope. If it takes an emergency trip to Somalia, they cope.

Ziva had invited her back on purpose. Shayla, conniving as she was, _didn't know_ they were investigating the poisoning. Didn't know they were _going_ to nail her to the fucking wall, just to take turns at beating the crap out of her. Didn't know exactly how _valued_ and _needed_ Tony actually was. She'd started to believe her hype, and forgot that not everyone did.

So when she came back (and she would, because remember, Tony told you she needed the control), Gibbs would be able to have a very calm, controlled, and civil conversation with her.

Or he could just shoot the bitch.

* * *

Tony sat at Ziva's place, staring at the painfully bland décor. Trying very hard _not_ to think of the fact that twenty to thirty NCIS agents were currently ripping his apartment apart.

Ziva was doing a very unnerving impression of a mother hen. She sucked at it. It was actually kind of frightening. He finally managed to get her to sit down and watch _Seinfeld_ reruns with him. He hated the show, but at least she wasn't trying to helpfully cook him a four-course dinner.

Ducky stopped by to verify the doctor's prognosis with his own eyes. He told a predictably long-winded tale that Tony didn't even pretend to listen to, but he did it without looking at Tony pityingly so, you know, Tony took what he could get.

Thinking through the timeline later, Tony realized that about the time Ducky was talking about Scotland in the sixties, Gibbs was talking to Shayla.

* * *

It was three hours before Shayla returned home. The techs had finished up, and McGee and Gibbs were just wasting time interviewing Tony's neighbours. Predictably enough, they all said that Tony had settled down when that nice Shayla woman moved in.

She wasn't worried. She was carrying four bags from high-end boutiques, no doubt purchased with Tony's money. She smirked when she saw Gibbs.

"Agent Gibbs, " she said, with a false sweet smile that he wanted to smack. "You need to keep better control of your agents. David attacked me earlier today. "

"Might have something to do with you poisoning her partner." Gibbs growled.

(The way Mrs. Grueber told it, he sounded angrier then her husband Carl when he missed his shows)

Shayla wasn't smart enough to flinch. She wasn't even smart enough to hold back the smirk.

"Agent Gibbs, what are you talking about? I've done nothing wrong. "

"Save it, " McGee stepped in, unable to keep silent. "We've just had agents in, looking for mercury in your apartment. "

Shayla's smile didn't waver. "Find anything? "

"We will, " Gibbs put in succinctly.

"No, Agent Gibbs. You won't. But send Tony my love. Now if you're going to continue questioning me, I'm going to need a lawyer. "

Gibbs leaned against the wall calmly. Mr. Faulton would swear he had recurring nightmares for the rest of his life from Gibbs' speech.

"Where do you get your tires changed? " He questioned quietly. "Your brakes checked? You're absolutely sure that the person who fills your prescriptions hasn't been added recently?"

Tony would have to guess, based on the combined tales of Mrs. Grueber and Mr. Faulton, that at this point, her smile started to waver just a tad. And she might have gotten a little pale under that fake tan.

Fortunately for her, Gibbs didn't feel the need to say much more, just directed McGee to take her into custody for questioning.

And his boss passed his neighbour's door, nodding to Mrs. Grueber, who had been blatantly eavesdropping the entire time (and for that, Tony's grateful), several accounts swear that the older lady actually winked at his boss.

"Well said," she offered. "Coffee?"

**And so it begins. Buckle up, kids, gonna be a bumpy ride.**


	8. kalba

**Wow, this would be the perfect time for romance, wouldn't it?**

**Clearly, nobody would be straining their brains to concoct a scenario for Tony. Psycho ex-girlfriend unable to stay at his own home, flinches whenever someone touches him, and staying with his beautiful partner.**

**Yep, sure seems like ideal breeding ground for romance (ha), don't it?**

**Yeah, not that easy. He moved in on a Tuesday.**

Wednesday

The first day was mostly Tony trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity (guy can dream can't he?) and futilely trying to figure out where he stood with Ziva.

Gibbs, in his typical gruff manner, had informed Tony that they had found no evidence of mercury or any other poison in the residence, so while they were still actively investigating Shayla, unless he had actually seen her putting the stuff in his food, they couldn't hold her for the time being.

And Tony is a man, despite what she had said, but he couldn't bring himself to go back _home_ , not yet.

They settled on him sleeping on the couch, and Ziva sleeping in her own bed.

He totally didn't wake up screaming so loudly that for the rest of the night he found himself occupying Ziva's bed anyway.

Friday

He was still "recovering" from the whole poisoning thing, and Vance had insisted he not come into work. So there he was, hanging around the house all day.

Turns out, watching Die Hard twice to compensate for not having Die Hard 2? Not as much fun as you might think.

Sunday

Shayla had skipped town as they were investigating her. Kind of put a damper on his newly adopted "new week, new leaf" philosophy.

Thursday

Movie night. _Dangerous Liaisons_ and Ziva fell asleep with her head in his lap.

Saturday

The days fell more into a routine. Tony was starting to get pretty comfortable, while Vance headed up the investigation.

Tony still itched to return to work (he hadn't had the chance to come up with a few McNames in far too long – his McProbie wit must be atrophying) and his DVD collection was unavailable as it was currently back at – well, he wasn't going there.

Remember what Tony told you about the romance? It was freaking Saturday night, and dammit, Tony would take a pretty girl out on a date if it killed him (very real possibility, but who was he to dwell on negativity?).

It took more than a little convincing for Ziva to actually go out and have fun, but mission eventually accomplished.

And Tony so enjoyed watching Ziva shake to every song, laughing, that it really didn't matter that he managed to make it out for two hours. Or that the bar they ended at was a whimsically named joint called Bucky's Country Roundup.

Monday

Vance was a persistent bastard, Tony had to admit. May even rival Gibbs himself.

Shayla had pulled a freaking Amelia Earhart, but he still had every agent searching every crook and nanny, and his – her apartment was combed so that Tony was pretty sure the cockroach family in the leftmost crook in his bathroom was busted.

And wipe those thoughts from your head. Tony was _not_ scared of Shayla. How could he be? It was his fault, anyway. His fault that he ended up in the hospital. His fault he couldn't work. His fault his team was affected. This humiliation that pressed down on him every minute was well-deserved.

So he was not scared of Shayla. His joints (which were beyond his control) would just shake uncontrollably on their own whenever he heard of her, talked about her or thought about her. In what universe did that count as fear?

Thursday

Second base. Accidental. He slipped.

Friday

Tony modeled a fresh new bruise on his arm. Never ceased to amaze how hard a punch that tiny little woman packed.

Sunday

Dinner with the team, only slightly awkward now. Then Supernatural reruns, covering Ziva's eyes as she "googled" the older brother. She slapped his hands away and laughed, and Tony could only marvel in the fact that he was being hit by a woman and never flinched.

Tuesday

Tony _really_ needed to go back to work. Thoughts wandered when one was alone, and as it turned out, they weren't exactly bolstering thoughts. He just needed a good murder case. Was that really so much to ask?

(Don't worry, he does look back on that particular thought with regret)

Thursday

Tony lived for Ziva's return from work. They had settled into a routine as he slowly recuperated, even kept sleeping in the same bed. He'd pump her for details about the case as soon as she got home, they'd eat dinner (Tony was convinced he'd warped into the second coming of Martha Stewart, he was getting so good at cooking), and watch a movie. Since he'd introduced Ziva to _The Princess Bride_ , she'd insisted on watching it at least once every few weeks.

"Rodents of unusual size? I don't think they exist," she'd giggle, and Tony could only marvel at the ninja assassin who loved _The Princess Bride_ and _The Sound Of Music_.

Friday

Pure, dumb luck. Tony was actually _whistling_ , so happy he was practically Mary Freaking Poppins (except for that stupid little voice at the back of his head that persisted in asking him if this was what his life was like before Shayla).

He was even back into the office for a visit before he officially returned to work next week. So of course, it would happen now.

Funny how an entire bullpen of laughing agents can be shattered by one ringing phone.

"Agent Gibbs," the voice smiled. "Are you _absolutely sure_ you know where your medical examiner is?"

**Betcha didn't see that one coming, did ya? And it all seemed so bulletproof.**

**Hisfault hisfault hisfault hisfault hisfault hisfault...**


	9. nakah

**Tony had seen this movie once, and remembered it being a mediocre flick at best. Formulaic movie about an assistant turning on his boss.**

**Kevin Spacey, he recalled. And while the movie was okay at best, there was one line he remembered with startling clarity:**

**"This is the only way you can hope to survive, because life is not a movie. Everyone lies, good guys lose, and sometimes love does not conquer all."**

**Well, that may have been the case, but he was going to try his damndest to change it. Waters blurred on who exactly were the good and bad guys, and whether love really entered into it, but maybe it was supposed to be that way.**

**Damn uphill, gotta keep climbing.**

Oh, how Tony wishes it could have been a blur after that call.

How fucking fantastic would it have been to just sink into the mindlessness.

All his movies describe their lives being a blur after news like this, and Tony still curses whatever sadistic God decided to make his life so radically different.

No, he remembers in vivid detail. The stricken look on Gibbs' face, the way Ziva's immediately snapped into her "federal agent" mode, the wide-eyed panic on McGoogle's face. The never ending ringing of both Ducky and Palmer's phones. The splintering wood of the stairs' railing as he raced down them on the heels his boss. The seemingly insurmountable length of the hallway leading to the morgue.

The empty echoes of their collective feet in the morgue. And the absolute, dead silence of the basement when nobody was to be found.

* * *

Tony had memorized the look on Gibbs' face by now. The first place he had gone after finding the morgue empty was to Abby's lab. Finding her unharmed, he immediately wrapped an arm around her and kissed her forehead.

The scientist had looked more than a little shocked at the voluntary show of affection, but as she appraised the look on Gibbs' face, her amused expression dropped.

"Gibbs," she breathed, her eyes widening. "What happened?"

"Ducky," Gibbs replied simply.

"Ducky?" Abby's brow furrowed in confusion. "He and Palmer went to Ducky's for dinner. Why? Gibbs, _what happened_?"

Gibbs looked at Abby critically. "They went to his place?"

Off her nod, he spun to face the team. "Car. Now."

And then Tony could only follow them, with Abby clamouring around their heels, still utterly confused.

* * *

You know how when you see a raging fire in the movies?  _Harry Potter,_ maybe? The place burns in a blaze reflected to the ends of the country, the ashes smoulder for two, maybe three seconds, and that's it. (You're looking for a cleverly hidden metaphor in this, aren't you? Thought so).

The smoking pile of ashes that was once Ducky's foyer was still contributing a very healthy amount of pollution, and looked like it had been for quite awhile. As for the rest of the house, well, the nice fireman Tony had been chatted with after the fact seemed to think it'd recover with some massive plastic surgery (what? It's just easier to think in terms of...enhancements).

And oh, Tony always forgets to mention this part. As they waded into the rubble, a soft moan from the corner caught the always-sharp ears of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Upon further inspection, they found it came from a face-down person in what probably used to be an alcove. A person with a very familiar-looking pair of round glasses.

And who happened to be surrounded by far, far too much blood.

* * *

"Palmer," Ziva called gently. She pressed two fingers to the Autopsy Gremlin's neck, relief written all over her face when she found a pulse.

"Palmer," she tried again. This time, the young man's head lifted barely.

"Ziiii..." he slurred, and Ziva nodded encouragingly.

"Yes, Palmer, it's Ziva. And Gibbs and everyone else are here."

The head lifted a little more and Ziva -probably recognizing he shouldn't be moving too much until the paramedics got to him – stroked Jimmy's hair soothingly.

"Stay down, Palmer. Can you tell us who did this to you?"

"Was Tony's...Sheila?"

"Shayla," Tony heard himself whispering, dread making his heart drop into his stomach.

Gibbs and McGee moved gingerly around Palmer. Tony watched his boss' brow furrow as he inspected the young man from top to bottom.

"No bleeding wounds, DiNozzo. Blood's not his."

Tony swallowed around the Texas-sized lump in his throat. "There's gotta be at least two litres there. If it's not his, whose is it? Not..."

Ziva carefully schooled her face into a non-reaction, still stroking Palmer's hair as he leaned into the touch.

"Palmer," she said soothingly. "Where is Ducky?"

Palmer rotated his head as best he could, and cast Ziva a look as if the answer should be perfectly obvious.

"Gone."

* * *

After Palmer had been rushed to the hospital (aside from being knocked on the head, it was clear the young man remembered nothing), the team was left with nothing, and to say Tony's head was spinning would be like saying Brosnan was the best Bond.

He assumed he caught a ride with the team back to the bullpen, though he really couldn't be sure. He did recall vividly ordering Ziva to leave him alone (she was doing that creepy mother-hen thing again), climbing into his car, and driving the deserted drive-in movie theatre.

Once there, he killed the engine, and finally let the anger, the absolute _rage_ wash over him.

" _Bitch_ ," he spat under his breath. He was nothing, granted, but now she was making him drag his friends, his _family_ into this. That much blood...if it wasn't Palmer's...then it dawned on him, and he fell forward with such force that his head smacked with a _crack_ into his steering wheel.

Ducky was a bargaining chip.

She'd called, so she'd have to know they'd look for him. Leaving Palmer there, she knew Ducky was her ticket out, so in all likelihood, he was mostly unharmed. That would mean...

She would have had to bleed someone.

A wave of nausea gripped Tony. _Bitch_. Now dragging innocents in.

"Way to fucking go, DiNozzo," he growled. "Really goddamn smart idea to bring home a maniac. Now she's killing your friends and it's your fucking fault."

And that was it. This was between him and Shayla, Tony knew. As such, she would have taken Ducky to a place that was exclusive to her and Tony. And luckily, he knew where that was.

And no, before you ask. He didn't call for backup, didn't call Gibbs, didn't even consider what a fucking _stupid_ idea this was. He just put his car in gear, and headed back. This was where it all started; of course it had to be where it ended.

So when he got the call ("she's...so much blood. I found her like this, you have to come, Tony, she's so pale..."), it only spurred him on.

**Tony really hopes you're ready. That's all he can say.**


	10. ashmash

**Time for a time out to fit in a brief word from our sponsor. And the word is: look the fuck out. Really. In all honesty, Tony's not sure why you even kept with him this far. It's not like this is a pleasant tale, and for fuck's sake, believe Tony when he tells you that this does not end in a sudden moment of clarity for the "bad guy".**

**A moment of tears, apologies, symbolic lowering of the weapon. Wow, that sounded almost poetic, didn't it? Momentary lapse.**

**So while you are sticking with this, just keep that in mind.**

* * *

Tony's still working out how to narrate this particular part of the tale. We're in the homestretch now. Fourth and goal. To that end, he's decided it really doesn't matter how he got to the apartment or up the stairs (not that he could remember even if he tried), only really matters what he found there.

* * *

Tony has excellent pleading skills. Really, he could put it on a resume.

Oh, stop it. Who's the one telling the story? We're getting to the part where it's relevant.

* * *

"Abuse victims rarely think of themselves of victims."

Makes him useless at any attempt to profile Shayla. She could be as harmless as a kitten to others, not like he'd know. Not like he knows anything.

* * *

_She would have had to bleed someone._

You do remember that part, don't you?

* * *

You can probably guess what Tony was thinking when he found her. Carl was circling around her, and she was pale, so pale.

"Mrs. Grueber," he breathed.

Tony supposes you think this may be an appropriate time for him to spring into Federal Agent mode, right? He would, you have to believe that.

Except he _always_ forgets this next part.

Any of you ever stared into the eyes you used to get lost in (girly, he _knows_ ) and then take in that person holding a gun on you and a knife at the still bleeding wound of your busybody neighbour?

* * *

Another place, same time. This, too was put together by snatches Tony had collected from various probies.

Vance's persistence had finally paid off. He had tracked Shayla's movements, enough to realize that she had _more_ than enough time to plot whatever scheme her insane mind could come up with.

Apparently, sometime in what seems like the long-past, it had occurred to the team to ask their ME/forensic psychologist for his opinion (seems it wasn't done before because the Duck-man was more than a little thrown about having not seen this earlier. No need, really. Not like Tony did).

"Abuse is control," Ducky had apparently stressed. "Abusers _need_ control over their victims. Someone leaving them on their own accord is the ultimate loss of control, and many aren't set up to handle that."

Gibbs appraised the older man with a long look. "You think she may get violent?"

"It is in the realm of possibility, Jethro." Ducky had sighed.

"Ducky, she didn't ever...not physically, anyway," Ziva said softly.

"Unfortunately, it matters little. Abuse escalates by its very nature, and abusers are extremely meticulous. They know extremely meticulous. They know exactly how to control a situation to their benefit. That's why when the police knock on the door after a fight, they turn smooth and charming. They can concoct a plausible story, because they know they can get away with this."

Silence permeated for several minutes, until Gibbs finally cut in.

"What's she going to do, Duck?"

* * *

No, he was not terrified. I mean, yeah, the knife was scary. The proclivity toward homicide, more than a little daunting. The fierce shaking of his knees, reflex. Or perhaps creep-reflex from that decidedly off-putting smile Shayla was currently giving him. Almost like he was a little boy with his hand in the cookie jar one too many times.

"Sh..Shalya," Tony gasped. He gathered all his pathetic wits about him, trying desperately to think of a way out of this.

_No way out, no way out..._

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Tony, Tony, Tony. Why did you do it?"

Okay, more than a little confusing. "Do...what?" stupidly forced its way out Tony's mouth.

She sighed, as if Tony is a particularly stupid second grader.

"It didn't have to be like this, Tony. If you had only been stronger, been more of a _man_ instead of running to your partner like a little girl, I wouldn't have had to do this."

And maybe living with Ziva has made him a little stronger, because he did find the bravery to snort derisively.

"Somehow, _darling_ , I doubt me not being able to lift two-hundred factors into your brilliant plan of randomly bleeding and assaulting people close to me."

She took a step towards him, and Tony flinched automatically. He's not sure if that threw the false bravado out the window.

She reached out and smoothed his hair down. Tony squeezed his eyes shut out of instinct, and he figured if the flinching didn't do it, that would.

Shayla dropped her hand and finally cast a look to Mr. Grueber, cowering in a corner, his wide, horrified eyes on the prone form of his bleeding wife. Tony noticed this immediately, and gathered his meagre amounts of courage.

"Shayla...you're right." It physically hurt him to say it, but somehow he managed not to choke on the words.

Her eyes snap back on him immediately. The knife glinted in the light, and he swallowed.

"It was my fault. I'm weak, and insipid and stupid. So...why don't you let Carl go, and then you can punish me appropriately. ( _No, gutter minds, his mind did not immediately go to the sex place. Cards on the table, it kind of scared him that it didn't.)_

Shayla finally looked satisfied, if more than a little hesitant. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly again.

"Do you think _I'm_ as stupid as you, Tony? He leaves, he calls the cops."

Tony shook his head, trying harder than he'd ever tried to look convincing. "Then...then we lock him in here, and move to my – our place."

She laughed wryly, but seemed to consider it for a minute.

"Come on," Tony cajoled. "You probably already cut the phone lines. It's just you and me. No witnesses. Just like in the beginning, before I screwed it all up."

That little nod she gives him feels like an enormous victory, and Tony whirls on Carl.

"Stay here, Carl," he barked.

"No!" the older man squeaked. "She's..."

"We'll get her out. Just stay right here, and _don't_ call the police."

Carl is looking very much like a confused pygmy (too many cartoons) at this point, as his lips form a soundless word that Tony guesses to be "why?".

Tony gathers all his pathetic wits, and laces his fingers through Shayla's.

"This started with me and her. This has to end with me and her."

Which was true, but also mentioning that the FBI was probably already tracking him down had a chance of pissing the psycho off. Carl still looked torn, but Shayla bared her knife again, and Carl whimpered.

"Put a tourniquet on her, and _do not move_ ," Tony hisses, and he and Shayla leave for

her place, locking the door behind them.

* * *

**Tony'll be honest with you. He hates cliffhangers. That's why movies get the edge over TV. Ending wrap up neatly, no waiting.**

**Tony supposes you'll all be a little pissed at him for this, but he'd like to take the opportunity to use a Series of Unfortunate Events quote (he'll modify it a bit for you).**

" **The movie you are about to see is extremely unpleasant. If you wish to see a film about a happy little elf, I'm sure there is still plenty of seating in theatre number two. My name is Tony DiNozzo, and it is my sad duty to document this tale."**

**And it** _**isn't** _ **too late, folks. Really. Why the hell would you want to subject yourself to this story. It damn well didn't benefit Tony, why should this be in your head too?**

**And if you** _**do** _ **insist on continuing, Tony hopes you're scared. This is** _**not** _ **a movie about a happy little elf. This is fucking Fight Club.**

**And in the wise words of Miranda Bailey, "We're all scared! If you're not scared, you're not paying attention!"**


	11. adom

**Well, you've stuck around this long. Go get yourself a cookie, or a gold star, whatever suits your fancy.**

**Tony's glad you're here to relive this humiliation with him.**

**Really.**

**Thanks bunches, y'all are swell. But as long as you're here, make yourself comfy.**

**This is the last chance Tony will give you. This is the last chapter of his story before the grand finale.**

Sometimes Tony thinks this is all a dream. Sometimes it all just seems so fucking unbelievable that it can't possibly be true. He wonders when this became his life, what he did to deserve this, and what the hell he could have done to earn what happened when it was all over.

But then, Paula sacrificed herself to save them all, Jenny pulled off the ultimate Jack Bristow "if I'm going down I'm taking you with me", and Kate, beautiful, do-gooder Kate, his little sister, well, as soon as that bullet entered her head, Ari's death warrant was signed.

It's not like they work nine-to-five office jobs and come home to supper and a wife every night. Their livelihoods depend on people's stupidity, on the worst parts of a person making their way to the forefront. Which, really, is only further proof that Tony should have seen this coming.

Really, Tony doesn't consider himself a sacrificial lamb, so you shouldn't either. There was just no good reason Mrs. Grueber _and_ Carl should have died for fighting his fight. The appropriateness strikes him as he enters what he no longer considers his apartment: this is where it started, the two of them, here. He was crazy to think it wouldn't end the same way.

Now, Tony is still trying to save face, but he's not ashamed to admit, his body was practically going into convulsions of fear at this point (manly convulsions, of course).

He and Shayla walk to their old apartment, and a few paces has never felt so long. Tony notices every detail: the ugly print on the wall, his open closet door, the scratch on the door across the hall, the blinking light of the security camera, _everything_.

Shayla leads him into the apartment and it's an absolute mindfuck how everything is the same and yet different at the same time. Tony means, everything is exactly in place, from the alphabetically arranged DVD collection to the pan Tony remembers setting on the counter in what seems like a long-distant memory.

Shayla turns. "Tony," she smiles, squeezing his hand a bit, as Tony fights the urge to vomit. "We have _so_ much ground to cover."

Shayla sees the look on his face, and her hand squeezes his again, harder than was probably necessary, but it's not about Tony now. She's (well, he could be considered a co-conspirator) dragged innocents into this now, and as the only one of the two with their sanity intact, it's his job to get them out.

He gulps, remembering their old medical examiner. God knows what she'd done with him, and right now, as she stopped briefly from typing on his laptop, Tony noticed a distinctive look of 'about to go off on a long-winded, _Grey's Anatomy_ -esque speech' on her face. Not the kind of speech Ducky had time for.

"Yes," he ground out. "We do have a lot to cover."

She smiles at his acquiesce, coming over to ruffle his hair affectionately. Tony does not duck his head, but presses on.

"Starting with Ducky. Now that you've got me, you don't need him, right?"

And he supposes it was stupid to think that because he'd won with Mrs. Grueber, he was going to win at this too. At least, that's what Shayla's condescending laugh seemed to imply.

"Oh, baby." She pinches his cheek and he doesn't suppose the biting of her nails into his skin is an accident.

"I can't believe you survived without me, especially considering how stupid you are."

Tony forces the not-so-subtle insult to roll of his back. _Tread carefully, DiNozzo_ , his mind yells, but Tony's never been particularly good at listening to his mind.

"No, _darling_ , you have to let him go," he implores. "You promised."

"Never promised any such thing." She goes back to the computer, not even looking up.

Tony is confounded at this particular point in time. She had him. Was Ducky not just bait? She had Tony here, why did she need Ducky here?

"He _was_ bait," Damn, it's creepy how she still reads his mind. "He still is."

"For...who?" he dares to ask, but she simply yanks on his arm and drags him to his computer, pulling up the security feeds.

(Yes, he has them programmed onto his computer. He's a federal agent, who has been set up for murder by a lab monkey. He also has made more than a few enemies over the years. Extra security is not exactly unjustified).

Despite the whole agent thing, however, his heart still sinks when he sees the dark ponytail of his partner coming into the building, gun drawn. Should have known she'd go off on her own looking for him.

"All of the women you fuck this devoted, Tony?" Shayla asks, false sweetness in her voice. _Damn¸_ Tony is fucked.

He gulps, giving reason one last shot. "I can get rid of her."

She snorts, "please."

Her hand grabs his again, and drags him down the hall to his closet. The door is yanked open, and Tony stifles a gasp. Ducky flops weakly in a chair, one side of his face slick with blood.

"Knew there was something off about you," he rasps. "Have you had work done on your nose? It looks far too plastic."

It takes all of Tony's will to bite down the smirk at the bite that never really left the older man. Ducky's braver then Tony, but then, everyone is.

And by the glint in Ducky's eyes as Shayla's hand instinctively flies to her nose, Ducky knows it too.

Shayla has the balls to actually look offended, proving that some things can still shock Tony.

"Rude,"she sighs. "And I was only trying to teach Tony a lesson."

She withdraws a knife from her pocket, and before Tony can plead, before he can beg, before anyone can say anything, Ducky has a fresh cut on his face.

 _Myfaultmyfaultmyfault_ , Tony's mind taunts him.

The groan escapes Ducky before he can help it, and Shayla finally looks satisfied.

_(You'd think at this moment, Tony would have been raging, right? She was cutting their medical examiner, Tony's friend, right in front of him. But here's a little life lesson for ya, kids: those who are weak and stupid like him rarely do what they're supposed to. That's how he became a cautionary tale)_

Thus appeased, Shayla grabs Ducky by the ear and leans close.

"Here's what you're going to do," she says calmly.

* * *

It is not until later, until Ducky's weak cry of "help" from the closet down the hall, that Tony begins to rethink whatever plan he may have had.

He had to hand it to Shayla, this was a pretty well thought out scheme of events, especially considering it sprung from the mind of a psychopath.

Maybe she's some undiscovered genius, he muses, and the thought is so ridiculous even to think that he can't help the giggle that escapes.

Shayla whirls around instantly, and Tony casts his eyes back to the ground.

He hears his partner's sure footsteps on the ledge, and just in time, Ducky groans again, the sound cutting into Tony as he realizes exactly how Shayla intends to get Ziva "out of the way".

It had taken so long for Ziva to learn to put people ahead of the job, and that was exactly what Shayla was manipulating.

_Again, the rage should have swelled, but let's just stay with the weak and stupid thing. True and easy._

Tony caught a flash of his partner's ponytail as she rain to aid Ducky, stowed away in the closet, and then there was a slammed and almost suspiciously quickly barricaded door.

The pounding and Ziva's shouts (he's pretty sure there are swear words in at least six languages) echo through the hallway, and Tony can only bow his head and do jack-all.

 _Useless._ Well, at least Shayla had been right about something.

That defiant little nugget of stupidity pushes into Tony's head, and he hears himself say "the team will find out. They'll come here."

And damnit, if Shayla isn't a thorough little psycho as she smiles serenely and murmurs something about her having friends too, their cars weren't looking so hot lately.

And Tony, with no gun, knife (should have followed rule nine), or ninja girl, braces to finish this alone. Just like it started, just like it will always end.

**You'd think court-mandated therapy would be a great opportunity to ruminate. Yeah, so they'd have you believe.**


	12. ra'

**Tony would like to preface this by stepping into another tongue, another language. Ziva's, to be exact, but who's really surprised at that?**

**Ra'. It's a word Tony learned from Ziva awhile ago. Evil.**

**Well, they gotta tell you something.**

You can hear that, can't you?

No, Tony doesn't mean that rather ominous _tick-tick-tick_ (and the clock was her idea. Sit down, Tony knows that may shock you). He means his heart, and don't pretend you don't notice how hard it's beating. Come on, at this time, Tony is sure you realize how insipid (learned the word from Buffy) he is. Not really worth being on Gibbs' team. The old guy's gut had to have a flaw at some point.

And as Shayla closes the door to their apartment, Tony is unable to read her eyes for something, _anything_ that may tell him what the hell she was planning on doing to his friends.

He swallows the Arkansas-sized lump in his throat, but the words just don't want to come out. Luckily, they don't seem necessary as Shayla shoves him into a chair, and tosses the knife aside and into the wall. Easily accessible later, but for who? Tony does not like the way it's looking like this is going to end.

She pats his head like a small child and crouches in front of him.

"Tony," she soothes. "Why so scared?" (Oh, how Tony wishes he could have made a Dark Knight reference. He will tell no lies, it still haunts him to this day).

"What…are you going to do?" Something to be said for directness, he guesses.

And….really? Do you have to hear the rest of this story? Hasn't he told you enough?

Fine. But he warned you.

Her hand starts to trail a path Tony used to love. Now he can only tense (bad choice of words). She, however, looks plenty satisfied. His breath comes in short little gasps, and her smile grows. She leans a little closer to whisper in his ear, and god, Tony is set to die of humiliation.

"If I let you get up," she breathes, "will you run?"

And hell yes, if he could, Tony would run. Her breath into his ear is nearly sending him into seizures, and not in the good way. He would run and hide, move to Newfoundland and live under an assumed name. Fly to Mexico and have everyone call him Juan Gabriel (he could probably pull off a Spanish accent). Live on a fishing freighter.

Anything, really, but because he's a fuck-up, he has too many depending on him to get them out of this situation. Which is why he finds himself shaking his head and awkwardly pushing stray hairs away from her face.

"No," and it's the single hardest word he has _ever_ forced from his lips. He barely recognizes his own voice, but it doesn't matter now. _He_ doesn't matter now.

And as Shayla smiles, takes his hand and yanks him towards his – her bedroom, Tony is actively not thinking.

* * *

Oh come on, did you  _really_ think Tony would leave that part of the story in? Sickos.

He really couldn't if he wanted to. The shrink calls it selective memory loss. Protecting himself by not letting traumatic memories touch him. Tony says that's bullshit. The whole fucking experience was a traumatic memory, and he just can't help but remember it with shocking clarity.

Anyhow. Getting back to what he _does_ remember.

Shayla looked all mussed after…that, but no calmer. Tony finds himself back in the chair. He feels the cracks in the wood, oddly happy when a splinter presses into his finger. Oddly alive. Which, you would think, wouldn't be as big of a change as it is.

Annnnddd, another wind up to a Grey's Anatomy-esque speech, only with no dramatic pauses or inspirational music. Tony wonders idly what it would be like had someone added those in, but Shayla's hand comes down hard on his cheek, forcing him back to the present.

"Yes." He blurts out. It seemed, in retrospect, a fairly safe thing to say, as he watched the knife glint out of the corner of his eye.

And damn, wouldn't that have been simple? Unfortunately, _simple_ was not currently a word that was willing to make an appearance in his life, because her hand comes down on him again, and she grabs the knife out of the wall.

"Tony, Tony, Tony," she sighs. The knife comes and begins to swirl light patterns in his forearm. Blood pools quickly, but Tony grinds his teeth and still forces himself to look at her.

"When will you _learn_? My God, to think I actually held out hope for you, for _us_."

The knife stills, and Tony is briefly glad, until he suddenly has it at his neck, backed by 120 pounds of psychopath.

"I didn't want to hurt you, you know. Or your friends. But I _needed_ to see you, I needed to give you a chance to make it right with me. I'm willing to forgive, Tony. It can be like this just never happened **.** But," and on this particular but, the knife comes loose and clatters to the floor. Shayla drags him to the kitchen and presses him into the counter, and Tony barely notices his bleeding arm's protest.

"Now it's too late," she continues. "They have to die. Now, don't think it means we can't be together, but you honestly didn't think that _girl_ (she spits out the word as if it's poisonous) could ever be a part of our lives? No, I prefer my man to be focused on _me_."

Her face twists into a sad little smirk, and she shoves him across the bare kitchen.

"Sad that it had to be your fault, though. Not surprising, but sad. Poor, weak little Tony is going to kill his friends."

Her eyes light up, and they suddenly don't look like the same eyes that they once did. Tony no longer sees light and warmth and _family_. Just a gray expanse, already empty and bare.

Catalysts, he supposes.

"Do you think it'll be slow? I mean," she glances at her watch. "The closet's tiny. I'd guess they have about ten minutes left. Nurses' training."

She laughs as if that was some absurdly funny joke, and Tony can feel his blood pounding in his veins. Dead. Gone. As in no longer living. Ziva and Ducky were suffocating, and it was his fault. Ten minutes. Dead.

_Bloody! Gasping for air….you could have left it at that….you killed him._

Oh god, he was killing them. Shayla laughs and advances toward him in a way that probably used to be threatening but Tony doesn't see it, doesn't see anything, anymore. She's coming at him with blood in her eyes, and it's now, it's _now_.

And he had no choice, he swears he had no choice. Oh God, she was going to kill him. More importantly, she was going to kill Ziva and Ducky, because she must have had some weapons stashed somewhere right? He had no gun, he was useless as it was, but his friends were going to die. They were going to _die_ and it was his fault.

And now Shayla was advancing on him and it couldn't be him, he _couldn't_ be the reason they died. Please, please stop looking at him like that! He _had no choice_.

Which is why in a split second, Tony dashed at her, and then Shayla was pinned against the wall, and Tony's arms had moved of their own volition and were now clasped around her throat.

Here's something you may not know about strangling someone: you're in a kind of trance, because you have to look at them. Have to see them look at you, look at you with the eyes you once regarded as your salvation, and take in the look of absolute shock as the light drains, painfully slowly, from them.

And he remembers, he remembers so _fucking clearly_ that this had to be how it ended. Her nails were digging into his hands.

_Fuck-up._

Her mouth was open and small gasps and moans were coming from it.

 _Pathetic coward_.

Her legs flailed wildly, trying desperately hard to kick at him, but his hands could only gain strength, sources unknown.

_Useless prick._

And then, all at once, it was over. The hands drooped limply, no sounds came, and legs hung on a no longer functional body.

_Murderer._

And Tony is sure he dropped first.

* * *

It was tiny flashes. Flashes of his life. Past, present and future. Oh, he's well aware of how hinky it sounds. But he somehow found himself able to pull himself back to the real world.

Not completely, of course. But he felt himself yank open the door of the closet. He remembers a soft body fall into his arms, and gentle brown eyes gaze at him.

 _She knew_.

He remembered Gibbs' soft hand on his shoulder, McProbie's stunned, wide eyes, and Ducky's rough breathing.

And then, strangely enough, a lullaby. Through the murk, he saw tiny brown eyes. Ziva's brown eyes. Soft, freshly kissed skin. Beds and cradles and backyards and _homes_ , something his place had never been.

And one last movie quote, because he's Tony, and his dying words will be "I've seen this movie."

_That night I had a dream. I dreamt I was as light as the ether- a floating spirit visiting things to come. The shades and shadows of the people in my life rassled their way their way into my slumber. But still I hadn't dreamt nothing about me and Ed until the end. And this was cloudier 'cause it was years, years away. But I saw an old couple being visited by their children, and all their grandchildren too. The old couple weren't screwed up. And neither were their kids or their grandkids. And I don't know. You tell me. This whole dream, was it wishful thinking? Was I just fleeing reality like I know I'm liable to do? But me and Ed, we can be good too. And it seemed real. It seemed like us and it seemed like, well, our home. If not Arizona, then a land not too far away. Where all parents are strong and wise and capable and all children are happy and beloved. I don't know. Maybe it was Utah._

**(NCIS. END TRANSMISSION)**

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE:**

You may have noticed Tony being a little less than friendly. May have let a few little barbs slip by. May have felt a little insulted but let it slide. So Tony supposes you feel you've earned the rest of the story, like a bratty child at bedtime (see? You just let it slide again). Tony's only response to that would be to ask if you've learned nothing from this whole ordeal. He could tell you, he knows. Tony could, if he wanted to, tell you everything.

Yep, Tony could tell you what happened next. He's sure you'd like to know, you've made it this far. Yeah, he could shove over on his court-mandated therapist's office and let you listen in.

Tony, theoretically, could tell you about finding a new place, free of fear. He could tell you about taking Ziva back to Paris, never seeing the sights but making every moment count (sappy shit, but she was always enough of a sight for him).

He could tell you about family – don't let _anyone_ ever tell you it's not the most important thing in the world. Tony's family is broken, opposite and completely perfect.

He could tell you about ringing bells and bare feet and how when Ziva laughed, he couldn't hear anything else. He could tell you about late nights, early mornings, lots of movies in between, and the smell of soft baby skin.

Tony could tell you, and maybe you've earned it. Tony thinks you've earned your stripes.

But that, my dear friends, is another story.


End file.
